Here and on the other side of the hill a ten-foot avenue was visible, neat and clean. The brush had been cleared away, the ground leveled, here and there some rudely cut ties set in place, and for an extended stretch there was a presentable graded roadbed.
As they drove up to the cabin the railroad president almost forgot his nephew from interest in his surroundings. Across the front of the building was a sign reading: “Headquarters of the Dover & Springfield Short Line Railroad.” To the south there was a singular sight presented. Some twenty men and boys were working on a roadbed, which had been cut for over two miles. A telegraph wire ran from the building over the tops of trees, and Ralph was fairly astonished at the 103 progress made since he had first visited Farwell Gibson in this place.
“Come in,” said Van, as Mr. Grant alighted from the wagon.
“Well, this is decidedly a railroady place,” observed the president of the Great Northern with a faint smile.
One half of the rambling place was a depot and railway offices combined. There were benches for passengers. In one corner was a partitioned off space, labeled: “President’s Office.” On the wall hung a bunch of blank baggage checks, and there was a chart of a zigzag railway line, indicating bridges, water tanks and switch towers.
“Mr. Gibson,” called out Van to a man seated at a desk, “this is Mr. Grant, the president of the Great Northern.”
“Eh? what! My dear sir, I am glad to see you,” said the eccentric hermit. “You came about your nephew, I presume? Take the gentleman to his room, Van,” directed Farwell. “I am something of a doctor and he is resting quite comfortably.”
Mr. Gibson greeted Ralph very cordially. When Van returned, he insisted on the young fireman inspecting the work on the railroad.
“Does that look like business?” he inquired, as 104 they proceeded down the roadbed. “We have ten men and eight boys working for us.”
“Eight boys—where did they come from?” inquired Ralph.